


Shoot to Kill

by AceQueenKing



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Body Coveting, Body Worship, F/F, Grinding, Set on Balmorra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 05:38:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15090149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: “You’re right to be suspicious of your quest to find weapons to cripple cyborgs, my dear. And many dark lords would use the chance to conveniently get rid of a burden, if an apprentice displeased them.” She arches a brow. “But, of course, that assumes that an apprentice is worth getting rid of. Do you really think yourself worth so little?”If so, Zash decides, she will simply have to show her apprentice how valuable she is.





	Shoot to Kill

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimaracretak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/gifts).



This new apprentice, Zash decides, she likes very much. She’s pretty, this one; clever, too. After so many idiots and dullards, she is a literal breath of fresh air. Her chosen one stands at her door, and for once, Zash smiles at the thought of an underling crossing her door.

“Darling,” she says, standing as the apprentice comes in. She blushes. Cute, somehow, despite the darkness that Zash feels clashing at the edges of her mind. She reminds Zash of no one so much as herself; for that alone, Zash _really_ likes this one. She’s got that same chip on her shoulder and nearly as much ambition. Had she had another master, there is no doubt Kallig would go far.

Wordlessly, the apprentice offers the Trandoshan relic, bowing deep in fealty. Zash’s heart, what’s left of it, aches. So faithful, so noble; loyal to no one but her. Oh, Kallig, her little shooting star.

Zash stands, taking the Trandoshan relic and gently placing it on her table. It’s another piece of her grand plan falling into place, but her cyborg apprentice looks distinctly uncomfortable. A frown glances across those sweet golden yellow eyes, and oh, that won’t do; can’t have her new body getting wrinkles, can they?

“Oh, my apprentice, there’s no need to frown so.” Zash smiles, all sweetness, if no light. “Tell Master your thoughts.”  
  
“Master…” Kallig says, those full lips in the most adorable pout. She will have to remember that; will have to practice it so that when she takes Kallig’s body for her very own, she will have the power of those sweet, tender lips. Playing, Zash places one hand on the girl’s lips and is rewarded with a scene of squirming that is extremely….adorable. It only whets her appetite for more.

The girl, her implants casting light onto Zash’s fingers, blushes. “It’s nothing, master.”  
  
“Come now girl,” Zash says, gently tucking a stray hair behind the girl’s ear; her cybernetic enhancements, empire-given, burn with a delightful color; Zash wonders if she can make it change colors, match her outfits. If not, she’ll be sure to get plenty of use out of the delightful red. So kind of Kallig to choose her Master’s favorite colour. “We are Master and Apprentice; that is not a one-way relationship, child. Your concerns are my concerns. My will, your actions. Is that not so?”  
  
“Yes, my master, but — “ Kallig sighs. “It’s just — these anti-Cyborg tools I have to find. It’s…”  
  
She bites her lips; a charming tell, but not one that Zash will be using once Kallig’s body is her own. That’s the one problem the girl has: she’s never obvious about anything.

“And you wonder if perhaps these are meant for more than Skortia, hm?” Zash smirks, seeing her apprentice’s mind all-too-clear. She is, perhaps, too clever for her own good, but Zash has always enjoyed flirting with danger.

Kallig, uncomfortable, curls her hand into a fist. Zash can tell from the white knuckles that what Kallig really wants is to reach out and touch her, but she’s trying not to. She’s the type who reaches out to people when she’s unsure. She’s the type who reacts to authority.

She’s perfect, for Zash.

“Yes, mistress,” Kallig mudders.

“Oh my dear, my dear.” She pretends to put her mouth into a small line, pretends to look disturbed by the mere allegation. Other masters might kill an apprentice for this, still, others may comfort; she will do one, then the other. “You’re right to be suspicious. Many dark lords would use the opportunity to conveniently get rid of a burden, if an apprentice displeased them.” She arches a brow, tries to look thoughtful. “But, of course, that assumes that an apprentice is worth getting rid of. Do you really think yourself worth so little?”  
  
“It’s not – “ Full lips press into a soft pout again. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that — “  
  
“You’ve been instructed not to trust, darling apprentice. I understand.” With a daring smirk, Zash leans forward, pulling her apprentice into a full-bodied hug. “Believe me, girl. I know your history.”  
  
“I – “ She felt something wet on her cheek, and Zash wants to laugh. Oh, this one. She is so perfect for her role, yet she barely understands how delectable was. But, instead, her hand drifts lower, purposefully skirting the girls posterior.

“Shall I show you, darling, what I think of you?” Zash whispers in her arms. She felt the girl shiver and took that as a decisive _yes_.

 _Nothing like breaking in a good body early,_ she thinks. She quirks her lips, hidden in the crook of Kallig’s neck. A hand reaches up hesitantly across her side, and gently, that little, blunt nail just gently touches the tip of her hips. Zash grabs her – no time for breaking in a new body like the present — and presses Kallig’s hand firmly on her ass. No mixed signals.

“Master…” She moans. Zash pulls back to watch Kallig’s face: cheeks blushed, eyes fervent. Did Zash ever feel so pure, so innocent? Perhaps, once. Oh so long ago.

Certainly not _now_.

“You are perfect, my apprentice,” she whispers, nibbling at Kallig’s ear. Kallig moans, voice shaking even with all those cybernetic implants making her stronger, faster, _deadlier_.

“Perfect to hear,” Zash says, following pain with pleasure as she takes her time lathing Kallig’s ear with soft, tender touches. The girl’s leg moves between Zash’s, building a pleasure she finds not at all disagreeable.

“Perfect to see,” she hums, pulling the girl close, so close she can feel her breath on her face, feel Kallig’s implants jut into her skin. Let them mark her, she thinks; she broadcasts the thought louder as she grinds against Kallig’s knee, and Kallig groans at the thought.

“Perfect to taste, I wonder,” she hums; Kallig gasps at the innuendo, and Zash knows she has conquered the girl’s fears now. She is a perfectly loaded blaster; Zash has only to fire her at Skortia and she will return victorious. Zash can already taste it.  

The taste of Skortia’s blood already on her lips, Zash brushes her thumb across Kallig’s mouth, savoring the last look of innocence on her face. Oh, this one is a _delight_. She wishes, almost, that it wouldn’t come to this; that Kallig would be the heir she wants, and not the body she needs. In more ways than one.

“Please,” she asks, in a whispered breath; her lips are wanting, needing to be kissed; Zash places one finger on her mouth, quirks her lips.

“Shush, darling. Future Darths _do not beg_.” Zash can tell Kallig wants to protest this, but doesn’t; her eyes glitter with a need that reminds Zash of nothing so much as herself, and the mouth – it is hungry. Zash smiles and leads forward. 

She presses her lips to the girl, kissing Kallig mercilessly; Kallig whimpers in her arms, not even realizing that Zash has gone for the kill.


End file.
